Page 59 of Dean

I eye him, taking that little nugget and placing it in my pocket. But then everything is forgotten when Avery walks out, that fucking skirt skimming his thighs, those boots on up to his ankles, that tight crop top.

Fuck, he’s so damn…hot. I mean, he was before all of this when he wore baggy pants and overalls, but now, with those smooth legs showing and that midriff…

It’s all a little too much.

I can’t fucking concentrate.

“Uh, Dean, I have Angry Myrtle on the phone. Wanna come save the day, big man?”

I clear my throat as I nod, following him up the stairs—which is a total mistake because that ass is right in front of me, looking far too good. He’s said nothing about last night and neither have I.

We’re both pretending it didn’t happen.

If only my mind could pretend it didn’t. Because right now, I’m wondering what I’ll find underneath if I slip the fabric up. Is he wearing lacy panties like he did that night in my bed? And if so, what color are they?

I nearly run into the doorjamb and then fumble so badly with the phone that I actually hang up on Myrtle in the process. She is not going to be happy about that.

“What is wrong with you?” Avery asks, his face concerned.

“Nothin’,” I say, and Avery takes a step toward me. He always smells so damn good. I noticed this about him even before I noticed his legs. He always smells like cake. Like fucking dessert. It’s one of the reasons I hired him in the first place. He was great at organizing my work life and he smelled ridiculously good.

I needed a little dessert in my life at the time, I suppose.

And now I’m fucked. Shouldn’t have been such a glutton.

“Are you having a stroke or some kind of medical emergency? Because you have been running into shit downstairs and almost killing yourself. Plus, you just hung up on grumpy old Myrtle.”

“Myrtle is a bitch,” I say, and Avery cocks his head, those French braids he’s rocking looking far too nice.

Hell, I could pull them real easily.

“Just distracted is all,” I say, and Avery’s eyebrows pinch, his pink lips puckered.

“You’re never too distracted to work. Is it because of what I told you last night?”

Yeah, well, I wasn’t before I met you, I think as I fiddle with a pencil holder.

“No,” I answer and then clamp my mouth shut.

Avery arches an eyebrow at me, and my dick twitches in my pants. It’s been doing that all damn day. I really need to give it a good, stern talking to. My hand shoots out in some kind of twitch and I knock the holder over. Pencils and pens tumble to the floor, and Avery eyes me for a moment before leaning over, almost folded in half to pick them up.

And I almost expire on the spot.

Oh my fuck.

Oh my fucking fuck.

A wheeze escapes my throat, and I clench my fists at my sides because I want to reach out to him and put myself out of my fucking misery. Why is he like this? Why am I? Why now? I’m too fucking old for this, and yet I’m doing it anyway.

“You okay?” Avery asks, turning his head to peek around his legs. Why is he still bent over like that? How long does it take to pick up some damn pencils? Does he know what he does to me? Is he teasing me? “Why are you breathing like that?”

He stands up, and I can’t take it anymore. I move toward him, stepping into his space.

Avery’s eyes widen as he stumbles back, his ass on the edge of the desk, his hands still clutching those damn pencils. And all I do is hover over him.

“Dean,” he breathes, and the sound of my name on his lips is causing my libido to go out of control. My dick isaching. It’s like last night.

The things his body against mine did to me. And he didn’t even move. He just sat on my lap and it made mewild.

---